It's a long way back from hell...

I recently spent a week in Presque Isle, Maine, the northern-most point I've visited in the continental US, being roughly 2 degrees of latitude north of Minneapolis. Traveling on business and being unused to the snow and early sunsets, I didn't get much of a chance to explore, though I did get very familiar with a couple of miles of the main road. I was there to learn, and learn I did, though not just about the job.

I learned that even when it gets "cold" in Louisville, it's not cold. The temperature was 22 degrees below zero when I arrived and 23 below when I left, though it did warm up to a balmy 8 degrees in the middle of the week. I have never felt temperatures so cold, and it's unlikely I will again for some time. Having the congenial attitude of a taoist, I actually enjoyed the cold, though I was glad it was temporary. I didn't risk offending my coworkers, but I wondered why anyone lives in this place. The winters are unforgiving, the summers short. The town is tiny, lacking any decent coffee and, more importanly, a live music scene of any sort, even including shitty bar bands. I would go insane. The people seemed relatively happy, though, at least from the little interaction we had. I'm sure friendlier weather conditions would have impressed the charm of the place upon me more than the bitter cold I was met with.

I learned that I actually like cable. Sitting in my hotel room, eating fried cheese and sucking down a Coke, I hopped back and forth between Fletch Lives and some Peter Fonda number that involved a lot of driving, criminal protagonists, and power-mad backwater cops. Afterwards, I watched The Hunt for Red October, Bill Maher's show, and some special effects featurette on the latest Die Hard movie. If I'm going to be watching TV, I sure as hell would rather be watching that stuff than most of the crap I end up watching.

The most profound thing I learned on my trip -- more important than any of the work-related information I absorbed, more self-affirming than successfully navigating six flights and five airports on my own, more sublime than learning what it's like to be a complete stranger in what might as well be a foreign land -- is that Danzig II: Lucifuge is one of the best hard rock albums of all time, sitting comfortably with Back in Black and Led Zeppelin IV. Some could argue that Lucifuge is a metal album. Like Black Sabbath's Vol. 4, it does fit within both genres, and I won't argue that point. In my mind, though, it's a hard rock album and as such, it's one of the best hard rock albums ever made. I'll grant that the vast majority of music I think of as hard rock is total fucking garbage. Van Halen, Aerosmith... I'm looking at you. Still, I count Zeppelin, Sabbath, AC/DC, and many other great bands among the hard rock legions, and for my money, Danzig and Co. are sitting right alongside those hallowed names with this album.